Dawnbringer: An Epic Medieval High Fantasy Saga

After the conversation with Elmariyë in the courtyard, Eldarien returns to his room. Stepping through the darkness and lighting a lantern fastened to the wall, he notices a folded note on the floor—clearly slipped under his door. He takes it, unfolds it, and reads:

Eldarien,

Rorlain spoke with me this evening and brought the news which I had already shared with you. He was surprised that I already knew it, as he was one of the first to speak with the messenger—being at the northern gate when the scout returned—and only this afternoon had begun passing on the message to others. I just want to let you know that he appears quite troubled. He has been given command over a small company of archers who shall be stationed at the said gate, which shall likely receive the brunt of the attack. I know not, however, if it is this that troubles him or if it is the matter which we discussed this morning. I hope that you will find time to speak with him tomorrow after your early meeting with Glendas. Know that I offer up my heartfelt orisons for a good outcome to this affair and for the safety of you both, as I do for all the people of this city and this land.

Cirien

Therefore, with heavy heart he retires for the night, though he cannot help feeling some solace and consolation lingering within his heart from his conversation with Elmariyë. Her words and her very experience ring true within him, and he recognizes that her claim can also be made his own. She lives in him more than he ever knew possible, and his aloneness, therefore, has been permeated by presence. But he does not linger long with the thought of her presence, as consoling as it is, for such presence directs him to another. It stirs a question within him: Is this what it means to have communion with the divine? The deepest communion but also the most mysterious...which utterly eradicates all aloneness and yet sanctifies solitude in the same act? If that is the case, how little I have known you until this moment... And yet how deeply and intimately you have known me, in everything...

With these thoughts he drifts off to sleep.

† † †

In the morning Eldarien awakes with an unusual mixture of serenity and suspension, like he is henceforth called upon to walk on a narrow cord over a yawning abyss, and yet that, in the act of walking, he feels a greater sense of balance and security from falling than he ever has before. With this, he dresses quickly and eats a light breakfast alone before leaving the temple just as the sun crests the horizon in the east, sending shimmering rays of white and orange across the rooftops. The air is quite cold, though above freezing, and a thick moisture in the early hours of the morning has cloaked the city—from buildings to road to grass, trees, and objects—in a dew that now glistens in the sunlight. By the time that Eldarien comes to the entrance to the hæras' palace, the sun shines full against the city and sends up countless shimmers of light from the crystals of condensation that cling to the world before releasing her surface and joining with the air. As the water releases, a dense fog rises up and hugs the surface of the earth like a cloud come close to the ground, moist and chill but beautiful in the radiance of the early morning.

He knocks at the large doors of the palace and waits for a minute or two before they swing open, revealing the face of an elderly man, wrinkled and weary but with eyes still glistening with awareness. The man is hunched with age, but, on opening the door, he stands as upright as he is able in order to welcome the visitor. "And what, may I ask, are you seeking at the palace of the hæras so early in the morning?" he asks.

"Forgive me if it is an inconvenience," replies Eldarien, "but I believe the hæras asked to speak with me as soon as possible."

"You are the one about whom Cirien spoke?"

"I am."

"Well, then you aren't too early at all," the old man says. "Glendas did not sleep much last night, so I imagine he will be glad to see you immediately." With this, he gestures Eldarien inside and shuts the doors behind him. "My name is Standa, and I will escort you to the hæras in just a moment. But let me inform him first of your arrival. If you could wait here, please."

Eldarien nods and takes a seat on a low wooden bench that lines the wall of a small antechamber. The room is fifteen by fifteen feet square, but the ceiling is tall and arched, and windows of colored glass high on the wall, when filled with the light of the morning that filters in, give the room a warm hue. He leans back and rests his head against the stone wall behind him, letting the warm light fall upon his face, and in this position he waits. And he waits for a long time, for it is a full hour, at least, before Standa returns.

"My apologies for the delay," he says. "There was a matter that required Glendas' attention. But he is ready to see you now. Please, follow me this way." The old man then leads Eldarien through another doorway and into a long vaulted chamber with a blazing hearth in the center and a throne at the far end. Along its length are lined tables that are clearly used for lavish feasts, though now they stand empty and clean, their presence only adding to the sense of largeness in the chamber. The walls, in their lower section, are paneled with wood both for decoration and warmth, while the higher section, where the stone buttresses meet the roof, have windows toned not unlike those in the antechamber, but with a patchwork of mosaic glass that makes the entire room appear bathed in intermingled colors of red, orange, white, and blue. When combined with the warm and flickering light of the fire, the effect is one that is both inviting and mysterious, as if one has stepped into a realm of half-sleep on the brink of dreams. Perhaps that is the intended result.

"Please, approach," says a voice from the other end of the chamber. Eldarien does so, and as he walks he looks upon the hæras seated on the raised throne with a man standing on either side, none of whom he recognizes. Glendas looks to be about Eldarien's age, perhaps a little older, of large and imposing stature—something visible even when he sits—with a head of thick blonde hair complemented by a long beard braided and jeweled.

"Glendas Medora, hail," says Eldarien, giving a gesture of respect to the hæras as he approaches. "I come to speak to you at your request and at the recommendation of Cirien Lorjies."

"Indeed, and it is well that you have come," Glendas replies. "I trust Cirien Lorjies heartily, knowing his words to be true and spoken in truth. Come near that we may speak freely without the need to raise our voices." And as Eldarien does so, he continues speaking, "This man on my left is Ûndan, my personal guard, and on my right is Tyrfing, my counselor."

"So I am to understand that you have found another counselor to replace the one who was...lost?" says Eldarien.

"Lost, indeed," Glendas remarks. "He was a soft man. But you are correct, though only in part. Tyrfing has been my counselor for a long time, since before Ovantes even arrived."

"I see," answers Eldarien. "He must then serve you well."

"Indeed," says Glendas, "but tell me: Cirien spoke of the power that you have received to—how shall we say?—cast out the dead. He also said that you were a companion of the man who previously came to me bringing warning of the coming enemy. He said that you were with him in witnessing creatures of darkness making a pact with the Empire?"

"That is correct, though it seems more appropriate to say that we saw the Empire making a pact with the creatures of darkness. It seems to us obvious that they are the stronger party and are using the Empire for their own ends."

"That is an interesting thought. What makes you think that these…beasts…have more power than the Empire and will not be a willing tool in the hands of its might?"

"They are not just beasts, sire," says Eldarien. "They are monsters born of a darkness that is far greater and more powerful than you or I yet know or can perhaps even imagine."

"And yet you claim to dispel them with a single blow of your sword?" asks Glendas, his voice betraying unbelief but also hints of curiosity.

"I do not dispel them, unless by that you mean they are dissolved in their corporeal form, whether ceasing in existence entirely or returning whence they came, I know not."

"And how came you by such power?"

"It was entrusted to me by one of the divines whilst I stood in a place of darkness," says Eldarien. "It allowed me to confront and vanquish an evil against which I natively had no chance to stand."

"And now you wish to put your powers at the service of my city as we seek to defend against the assault of such creatures upon our home and, in the process, to stand also against the might of the Empire itself?" Glendas asks.

"That seems the only appropriate course of action, yes," replies Eldarien. "I do not side either with the rebels or with the Empire in their political goals. I only wish to prevent the loss of life and the victory of the powers of darkness. In that, I place myself at your service."

"I wish that you could give me some 'display' of this power," says Glendas, "for it almost beggars belief."

"I assure you it is no lie, nor, however, is it simply in my capacity to call it forth at will. It comes only in direct contact with the darkness that it seeks to purge."

Glendas opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by Tyrfing, who says, "I do not think that we should trust this man. He speaks of a mysterious power, but he gives no proof. He speaks of aid, and yet he wishes not to support you in your plans to fight against the Empire and to bring about the freedom of your people from their yoke."

"That is true," Glendas replies, turning to his counselor, "but we do not need him for all of that. We seek only his aid in the defending of the city."

"So you shall make a mercenary of this stranger?" Tyrfing asks.

"I am no mercenary," Eldarien interjects. "I only seek to freely offer whatever aid I can give."

"Do not interrupt the counsels of the hæras," Tyrfing says to Eldarien, anger creeping into his words, an anger that brings about an unusual change in his voice, making it sound almost like a growl. He then turns back to Glendas, "As I was saying, I think we should send this man away. If he claims to be a friend now, he could easily be our enemy tomorrow. I suspect that he aims only to use us for his own ends."

"And what ends might those be?" Eldarien says, and then, to his surprise, it is the hæras himself who corrects him now.

"Tyrfing has told you to be quiet and so be quiet!"

"Sire...?"

"He has plans of his own, I assure you," Tyrfing continues, "and he hides a past that you do not know. He is a captain of the Empire, and he comes as a 'bearer of light' whose presence shall bring only darkness to us all. It is better, I say, to nip this flower in the bud, and to win our contest by the might of our own arm."

"Is what he says true?" Glendas asks.

"I know not how he knows it," says Eldarien softly, "but I was indeed once a captain of the Empire. But I have freely departed from that path and have no intention of returning to it."

"So you see," Tyrfing insists. "He has already concealed from you much concerning himself and his intent."

"I have concealed nothing of my intent," Eldarien corrects.

"Why...why did you leave the Empire?" Glendas asks, torn between listening to the words of his counselor and remaining in a stance of true dialogue with Eldarien.

"Because my eyes were opened to the evils committed under her mantle and because I could not abide by the orders of my superiors."

"So it is evident that he will disobey the commands of those with whom he disagrees," Tyrfing says vehemently.

"Enough, Tyrfing!" Glendas cries. "Allow me to speak."

"My liege," the former says, with a bow, "but I have no doubt—"

"Quiet!" Glendas then rises from his throne and takes a step toward Eldarien. "I believe that you speak the truth. Your words and your bearing assure me, and I feel the truth in what you say."

"I assure you, sire, that I speak only the truth," replies Eldarien.

"Absurdity!" cries Tyrfing, and at this moment a bizarre change comes over him. His face transforms in less than a blink of an eye, becoming not only grotesque, twisted with anger and hate, but also inhuman, with wide skull and rotting mouth filled with fang-like teeth dripping with saliva or venom. His hands, too, change, turning into claws, with long bent fingers with razor-like nails. He leaps forward and, before anyone can react, thrusts one of his hands deep into Glendas' back. The latter can hardly cry out before death takes him. "Long have I desired to crush your heart between my fingers," says Tyrfing, his voice now a horrifying baritone of guttural rage. He then draws forth his hand, dripping with blood, and laughs in delight. "And now for you, 'Lightborn,' the time has come to taste the darkness."

Eldarien draws his sword and stands poised, ready to defend himself. But Tyrfing—or whatever his true name may be—leaps upon him with such speed and agility that he dodges the swings of Eldarien's blade and then throws him onto his back. His sword clatters against the stone floor as it is knocked from his hands. With a cackle of hatred and sick delight, the creature strikes Eldarien across the face, his claws tearing deep into the flesh of his cheek.

"How I want to destroy you!" the beast cries, but then it hesitates as if restraining one thirst by a deeper thirst. "Ah, but...but I shall not kill you immediately. I shall keep you as a plaything for a while yet. Yes, that is what I shall do... I shall force you to witness the destruction of the people whom you wish to protect. And you shall be unable to do anything, a man of broken bones and broken spirit, chained and conquered by the very forces that you have presumed to resist."

Darkness begins to cloud Eldarien's vision and, moments before he loses consciousness, he sees Ûndan leap upon the creature of darkness with sword drawn, and the creature bearing upward with claws extended. Then all goes black.

† † †

Eldarien awakes in the dim half-light of a dungeon and groans in pain, chained as he is to the cold stone wall, his arms extended right and left above his head, and his ankles, too, affixed to the wall. The pressure is tight against his skin with iron manacles and causes him keen pain; the chains also almost entirely limit his movement, being but a few links fastened to the wall with heavy bolts. A barred window high to his right is the only source of light, the narrow beam of sun filtering in through it falling opposite him upon the bars of his cell. He cannot see what lies beyond the bars, but given that the other three walls are of solid stone, it must be the passageway. The left side of his face burns with pain, and his cheek is swollen from the deep cuts inflicted by the claws of the beast, so much so that his left eye is partially closed. He is also naked to the waist, and the cold air of the dungeon stiffens his muscles and his skin, which are already stretched almost to their limit by the position in which he is forced to hang.

The air is silent, with no sound but the mute muffledness of unmoving stone and the hum of anxiety laden stillness echoing in his ears. But soon he hears his own heart beating and his own breathing punctuating the silence, as if a rhythm of drum and flute sounding a lament before an audience of none or a troop of laden warriors marching forth, exhausted already by the trek and stirred on by the drumbeats toward the horrors of war: death, death, death. And yet Eldarien knows that the heartbeat is a sign of life, not of death. As long as he still lives, regardless of where the drumbeats lead him, he has the chance of remaining faithful to the light and of serving it to the very end.

These thoughts are soon interrupted by another sound which enters the cacophony of silence, which had only just begun to flow on into a sense of peace and serenity again: the sound of shuffling footsteps beyond the bars of his cell. And with the sound of the footsteps comes terror—the terror that pours forth from the creatures of darkness like water pours from rivers into the sea or blood spills from an open wound. Soon there is the sound of a key being inserted into a lock and turned, and then the door swings open with a rusty creak. Into the light steps a creature whom Eldarien immediately recognizes as Tyrfing, or rather as the beast that had disguised itself as Tyrfing. Now the transformation is complete, and all resemblance to a living man has been left aside: before Eldarien stands a creature not unlike the druadach, a figure of dead bones and rotten flesh, a good two feet taller than the tallest of men, with hunched back and long, twisted arms bursting with muscle, and with eyes like blackest night, from which an intrusive, violating, and fear-inducing gaze looks.

The creature cackles in laughter and draws near to Eldarien until it stands but a couple feet away from him, its form fully visible even in the dim light of the cell and enough to freeze his heart with terror. "My little toy," it says, in a voice like vomit, "I apologize that I have made you wait for our fun. I was delayed. You see, I had some affairs to...attend to."

"What has happened to...?" Eldarien asks, but the voice dies in his throat.

"To what? To whom?" the creature replies. The longer it stands in proximity to Eldarien, the more its stench, a stench of death even worse than an unburied, rotten corpse, fills his senses and causes him to gag. "Ristfand itself is untouched for the moment...though that shall not be the case for long. Yet the house of the great Glendas Medora has been destroyed, all his family and all those in his employ. And how I have longed for this day, abiding that fool for years until our plan was ripe."

"Who are you?" Eldarien asks.

"Another question so soon? I have not even finished answering your first. Let me speak at my leisure, you imbecile, you lesser creature, you worm. Clearly, I am the one with all the power here. I assure you that it is in your best interest not to anger me." With this the creature turns away from Eldarien and paces the room, its bare, claw-like feet scraping against the stone floor. He sees that it wears no more clothes than a rag hanging loosely from its shoulders down to its thighs, a rag in which, to his disgust, he sees maggots freely crawling. He realizes then that these creatures are embedded also in the beast's desiccated skin, crawling around almost imperceptibly under the surface with their tiny white bodies. Seeing the expression on Eldarien's face, the creature laughs. "Yes, yes," it says. "Colloquially, I am called 'Maggot,' though I have many names."

"You..."

"I am the Lord of Worms, and them I crush at whim and at leisure. It is my pleasure and my delight. I am not the greatest of my kind, but I am immeasurably superior to you or to any who claim to walk in the light. For light is weakness; it is petty preoccupation with appearances. Yes, people cling to the light only out of fear, do you not see? To embrace the darkness is to act in courage, with vigor, with strength. Human beings prefer the light because it is all they know; it makes them feel safe. But it is also boring, narrow, and so very, very bland. In the darkness alone are adventure, and pleasure, and freedom. That is something, however, that I fear the likes of you shall never know."

Maggot stops directly in front of Eldarien now and turns to him, leaning forward until his face is but inches from Eldarien's face. "Humans are so easily turned from the light, however, by the same fear by which they cling to it. All that is necessary is to convince them that the darkness is more secure than the light...and, if that does not work...to simply break them." He then reaches forth one of his clawed hands and grasps Eldarien tightly around the throat, until the sharp points of his claws begin to pierce the skin and draw blood. "And you, the supposed 'lightborn,' the one that your petty gods have chosen to stand in their name...there is nothing to do for you but to break you. Whether you turn or whether you die, it matters little to me. As long as I have my fun."

He then releases his grip on Eldarien's neck and takes a small step back. With his dark and wicked gaze, he looks up and down Eldarien's body as if contemplating, and then, raising a hand, he reaches forward and slowly draws his claws across the skin of Eldarien's shoulder. His claws, razor sharp, easily split the skin wide open and allow blood to seep freely out and to flow down Eldarien's body. In the excruciating pain, Eldarien clenches his jaw and groans, but otherwise remains silent. And as Maggot does the same on his other shoulder, Eldarien feels the nausea born of intense pain almost overwhelm him.

"Very good," Maggot says with a laugh. "Like with every man, I will have you squealing in no time. But for now, I suppose you wish for some time to rest and to reflect upon the things that I have said, and to recall my beautiful face, which shall henceforth be the only one that you see this side of death."

And with this, Maggot turns and leaves the cell, locking the door behind him.